


Guardian of Lost Children

by Mixxy



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: But Pitch fixes it, Child Abuse, Child Jack, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Gen, Guardian Pitch, Guardians are useless, Human Jack, In the "kill a guy" sense, Pitch has his own justice, Pitch is a good guy, Pitch will fuck your shit up, Pre-ROTG, in his own way, way deeeeeep down
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-07
Updated: 2013-08-07
Packaged: 2017-12-22 16:19:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/915357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mixxy/pseuds/Mixxy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack's fear stopped being sweet the moment he found out the cause. Pitch scares children, but that doesn't mean he'll sit by while their lives are destroyed. And if the Guardians won't do anything, Pitch will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guardian of Lost Children

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning for child abuse, of the sexual nature.
> 
> Also Pitch is a vigilante guardian, because nobody will ever change my headcanon that he's an anti-hero.

Pitch is drawn to fear. That should surprise nobody, as he is the spirit of fear, thank you very much. So there are some children he is more naturally drawn to.

There are ones who read scary stories and delight in the fact that they spend hours jumping afterwards. Their fear comes in bursts, often followed by laughter. It’s bittersweet, laced with the adrenaline and _fun_. Pitch doesn’t really care for it.

Then there are the ones who are jumpy by nature. The ones who cling to their mother’s legs and don’t like to go on roller coasters and sleep with a nightlight for long after they should. Their fear has more sustenance, but the taste is a lot more basic. It’s sweeter, almost saccharine.

Of course, there are the children who have vivid imaginations and can see a billion and one shapes in the shadow on the wall. Their fear has a tanginess to it, a sharp quality. Pitch likes that kind best.

And every now and again, there’s this kind of _raw_ fear, so pure and unfiltered that it’s almost too much when he tastes it. It’s sharp and cold and delicious, but after awhile, he finds himself unable to partake in it. Too much spoils, he supposes. He’s still drawn to it.

So one night, strolling around the village- a lot of children, good harvest here- he gets a glancing whiff of that fear, the cold kind that freezes to the bone. He can’t be blamed for following it- he wants to get it at the source, where it’s best.

The boy can’t be more than six or seven, tossing and turning with a nightmare looming over his head. Pitch leans down and just drinks in the terror, allowing the goodness to roll over his tongue. The supply doesn’t falter. It comes in a steady flow as the brown-haired boy whimpers. The nightmare is given more power by Pitch’s presence, and the taste grows stronger.

After only a few moments, Pitch is sated, and he leaves to check on other parts of the world. He leaves the boy alone.

For now.

* * *

 

Now the boy is just a mystery.

Night after night, Pitch returns. He can find that child with his eyes shut- just follow the trail of fear, burning like neon in the night. And every night, the nightmare is already in full swing, without him even having to prompt it.

Sometimes he doesn’t come back for a week, and the same nightmare is still there. It’s curious. Pitch has known children to have reoccurring nightmares. After all, your fears don’t change, and they’re always there. But this level of reoccurrence is strange. Every night is unheard of- especially with this much powerful fear coming from the child every time. He must be exhausted when he wakes up.

Why do the child’s parents not help him? Normally if Pitch pesters the same child for awhile, he’ll arrive to find the parents cradled around them, warding off the bad dreams he brings, or at least he’ll find it less easy to work after the parents’ soothing words still in the mind. And he knows this boy has parents- very attentive ones. He sometimes sees them playing with the boy and his infant sister at dusk while he waits in the woods for the boy to go to bed, so he can partake in some more of that delicious fear.

But every night comes and goes, and more and more of that fear rolls out like tidal waves. And the parents do nothing.

Pitch is curious. Usually fears come and go. A child hears a scary story about a killer bear, they are scared of bears for a week or two and then they move on. But night after night, the same fear- not the same nightmare every time, but based on the same fear- dances above the boy’s head in rippling back sand.

Now, normally Pitch never looks into a child’s fears. After a few millennia, it gets boring seeing the same tiger chase the child, or seeing the same falling scene over and over. He’s become perfect at predicting what will scare each child without having to look. But this intrigues him.

So one night Pitch leans over and runs his hand through the fine black sand. Allowing it to flow between his fingers, he breathes “show me your secrets”.

And then the world fades to

_Hands, reaching out._

_And Jack is running but the hands keep chasing him, always right behind him._

_“Jack, keep very quiet. Do you understand? If you make noise things will be very bad for you.”_

_And there’s pain_

_And it hurts_

_(Please stop please stop please stop)_

_But Uncle Isaac says it’s their secret_

_And Jack really **hates** secrets_

Pitch jerks back, holding his hand like it’s been scalded. Unknowing, the child whines and burrows deeper against his pillow, like it will protect him.

Trembling slightly, Pitch reaches out and calls the nightmare back to him. The fear is no longer sweet. Suddenly all he wants is for the child to at least have his sleep be a safe place ( _because the real world may not be)_. But when he looks back up, the same dream is back. It’s not the same nightmare, because he’s still clutching the sand in his hand, but it’s the same _fear_. He calls it back again, and immediately a new cloud assembles.

The child is actually calling his own nightmares.

Again and again, Pitch dismisses the sand, getting more frustrated each time. Finally, gasping for breath, he accepts that the nightmare will not leave, nor will the child’s fear. There are piles of his sand surrounding him, but a fresh one still plays out above his head, urging on the flow of terror. The taste of it now revolts Pitch.

The nightmares won’t leave until the fear does.

And Pitch is in the business of scaring children, but it’s always for their own good. Fear of the dark keeps them from getting lost at night. Fear of strangers keeps them from getting abducted. Fear of wild animals keeps them from getting too close and attacked. A little fear is healthy, and keeps them safe when they’re too young to know any better.

He is _not_ , however, in the business of ruining the children’s lives. And this isn’t healthy, isn’t good in any way, it’s _sick_ and _wrong_ and it needs to _stop right now_.

Pitch sets his shoulders and begins to scheme. That’s what he does best, really.

* * *

 

Except he might need a little help here.

North is friendly far past the point of annoyance, but he treats Pitch just like any other spirit, and none of the other spirits do, so he needs North’s help.

“Pitch, my brother!” He claps Pitch on the back so hard he stumbles forward a little bit. “Always nice to have you visit!”

Pitch regains his dignity and smiles politely. “I hope this isn’t a bad time?”

“Never bad time! Christmas is months away. I actually have time to sit with friends! Is nice to be out of workshop now and then.”

 _Friends._ Okay, that was unexpected. “Well, can I speak with you? It will only take a moment.”

Before he knows what’s happening, Pitch finds himself shoved in an overly large armchair and has a cup of hot cocoa in his hands and a plate of cookies by his elbow. “Yes, speak away!” North says, taking a large bite of his own cookie.

“Right, well.” Pitch clears his throat. “I have a purely hypothetical moral question. Scholarly thought, just inquisitive, you understand?”

For a moment, it looks like North has no idea what he means. “Yes, yes. Hypothetical…is not real.”

“Yes, it’s not real, just a…a ‘what if’.”

“What if! Very good. What is your what if?”

“Well…say that you…somehow came to know a child was being hurt. And not as in children-teasing hurt, or losing-belief hurt, but…genuine hurt.”

North tilts his head, puzzled. “What do you mean? Give example.”

“Like, say a child wrote you a letter. They do that, right?”

“Yes, all sorts of letters, telling me what they want! Is one of my favorite things, reading their letters.”

Pitch crosses one leg over his knee and sets the mug on the table next to him. “So, say in the letter, the child asked for, I don’t know, a daddy who didn’t hit her. What do you do about that? How do you stop it?”

North looks at him, like it’s sinking in, then at the floor, then at the ceiling. “Pitch…we cannot stop it.”

Now it’s Pitch’s turn to blink numbly. “Pardon?”

“Is something all spirits have to deal with eventually. We cannot stop this, as much as we want to. We can offer support, through hope and wonder, but we cannot interfere. Is natural order. See now-“

“No!” Pitch slams his hand on the table and some cocoa spills over the side. “You’re telling me we’re just supposed to _sit back and watch_?”

“I wish it was different, Pitch! But spirits cannot directly act outside of customs!”

“You’re supposed to be the guardians of childhood! They are having their childhoods _destroyed!_ ”

“Pitch, we all have struggled with this. Tooth especially. She still has problems, especially with all the memories. See, we can only offer help through these times, but not-“

“This is unacceptable.” Pitch stands up swiftly, anger flashing behind his eyes. “I won’t stand for it.”

“No, brother, listen. There are rules-“

“I don’t care about your _rules!_ ” Pitch shouts, and the shadows on the wall stir aggressively. “And I am nobody’s _brother_ who sits by and allows innocent children to be harmed, then has the _gall_ to call himself a guardian!”

The door slams behind him so hard that snow slides off the roof.

* * *

 

The child at the village still has the same nightmare. Pitch lurks in the woods for weeks at the time, hiding in the shadows during the day. He observes. Sometimes- not often- he has been mistaken about dreams. He hopes this is the case.

The boy- Jack- his happiest when playing with his young sister. He shows her there is nothing to be afraid of in the grass, the bark of the trees, the butterflies. When she is afraid, he sings to her and makes silly faces until she is giggling again.

But every now and then the boy’s uncle drops by, and Pitch’s eyes narrow. The uncle always has a new toy for Jack, a joke to tell. Of course, when he speaks to him there is a large hand splayed out on his small back. Nothing anyone would notice.

Nobody who wasn’t watching for it.

And when the uncle tells Jack he needs to give him a special assignment, or his parents tell Jack he’s going to go spend the night at his uncle’s house, Pitch feels the wave of fear clear from the forest’s edge.

And he feels how scared and hurt the boy is afterwards. _Jack hates keeping secrets._

That’s enough for him.

Pitch hates stooping to coarse language, but fuck the guardians. Fuck their rules. If nobody else will help, will _notice_ , he will.

He begins by stalking the uncle’s house. His fears are almost too easy to deduce. The man, like most of the villagers at this time, is scared of hellfire. Of eternal damnation. Of people finding out his little secret with his nephew.

It takes some effort, but Pitch finally convinces his nightmares to go to the man, even though he is grown. He feeds greedily on the fear, and pushes the nightmares on further. _More. Go deeper. I want him terrified._

He happily walks through the uncle’s nightmares, watching him thrown into the pits of hell, running from Jack’s parents, being swallowed up by the earth. He traps him with his own crimes. The dream will start with the child wide-eyed and teary with fear, which gives the uncle a sick thrill, and then Pitch has the child transform into a demon with teeth like knives, and relishes the sweep as the excitement changes to pure horror. _Suffer_.

At least every other time Pitch tries to harm the uncle. His hands pass through him just like everybody else, instead of wrapping around the throat and squeezing the way he really wants to. He wants to reach into his chest and stop his heart.

He wants to make it so the man cannot harm Jack anymore.

He follows the uncle around the village whispering threats of hell in his ear. Maybe it’s his imagination, but the man starts to look a little uneasy. Whenever he so much as looks in Jack’s direction, Pitch makes the shadows twist into demons and fire, until the uncle no longer looks at the child and avoid dark places. Interesting.

And then one night, it all goes brilliantly, wonderfully, _right_.

Pitch had been doing the same thing as always, pushing nightmare after nightmare on him. Except tonight, the uncle gasps awake, clutching at his chest frantically. His breathing evens out and then his eyes land on Pitch.

Their eyes connect.

Pitch feels a thrill. _He can see me_.

He has successfully terrified this man so much that he believes in the boogeyman. And _he fucking deserves to_.

The man’s hands tighten on the blanket and he begins to shake. “Are you…” he rasps out, “Are you the devil?”

Pitch’s face twists into a smirk. The shadows make flames behind him. “Yes. And I’ve come to collect.”

He shakes his head frantically. “You don’t get my soul! I haven’t done anything wrong!”

Pitch leans in and hisses out, “Ah, but you, I, and _your nephew_ all know that isn’t true, don’t we?”

The man’s heart stops. Literally.

He falls back, grabbing at his chest once again, and after a minute his legs stop kicking and he is still. Pitch listens to the blood stop rushing, feels the flow of fear taper off and die as the uncle does.

He thought he’d feel victorious, happy, but he doesn’t. He just scared a full grown man to death, which should be a way to validate his powers. But he isn’t smug. And he thinks he knows why.

Pitch travels back to the boy’s house. The nightmare is still there, and he still can’t remove it. But he’s removed what was hurting Jack, and that’s enough. In time, the fear will fade until the boy can finally sleep in peace. He reaches down and is only a little surprised when he makes contact, brushing the child’s bangs out of his eyes. Before, he would have sold his soul to have a believer, but now he knows he will never see this child again. He can’t bring himself to scare Jack any more. He’s had enough fear in his young life.

In a moment that he would deny if anyone ever saw it, he bends over and gives a soft kiss to the boy’s forehead. “Don’t be afraid, young one. Even if the guardians won’t help you, I will.”

He leaves then, and vows to never come back. Not until the child is grown and gone. His horses take him straight up to Sandy’s cloud, where the small golden man is conducting the night’s good dreams. If Pitch had to pick a spirit he got along best with, it would be Sandy. “Sandman.”

Sandy turns heavy eyes toward him and Pitch somehow understands that Sandy _knows_ what just happened.  “Sanderson, there’s a young child down there. Jackson Overland. Would you…go out of your way to give him some pleasant dreams? If any child deserves it, he does.”

Sandy doesn’t agree or disagree, just looks at him suspiciously. “Please, Sanderson.” He sighs, and feels tired for the first time in weeks. “You know I wouldn’t ask unless it was necessary. Do it as…a personal favor. Please. This child-“ His throat stops up suddenly and he has to clear it. “This child needs them.”

Sandy nods and a few symbols appear above his head. _Yes. I promise. Now go. The body won’t be unnoticed for long._

“You won’t-“

_I won’t tell anyone you stopped here. Or why. Now go._

Pitch takes off for his lair. He knows that he broke rules that cannot be broken, and that the guardians will be coming for him. He’s known that all along. But he will not regret what he has done. Not for a second.

Even if he’s an enemy of the other spirits forever, he would do it all again. He is his own guardian, in his own way, with his own rules

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like to see more, or just want to chat, I'm [here](http://www.mixxtapej.tumblr.com). Stop on by!


End file.
